


A Life Less Ordinary

by aliciameade



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Dark Comedy, F/F, Gun Violence, Kidnapping, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 14:28:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9611444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciameade/pseuds/aliciameade
Summary: Beca's life implodes in a single day. Chloe's bored with her own. Their paths collide and travel a dark (but not too dark) path together.M for violence, not sex.(Yes, this is a direct AU of the filmA Life Less Ordinary.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome to the latest edition of my film-to-fic AUs!
> 
> This is based on the film of the same name, and it is very much a dark romantic comedy. There is gun violence, kidnapping, and mentions of blood and self-harm. Please be aware of this if any of these topics are upsetting.
> 
> This was written by request of a very generous person who made a charitable donation in support of the Fandom Trumps Hate Tumblr campaign in exchange for a story from me.
> 
> This story is told (somewhat alternatingly) from both Beca and Chloe's points-of-view. Also, it was a challenge to maintain some level of canon characterizations in such a wildly different scenario...but I tried!

* * *

 

“Will you marry me?”

 

Chloe rolls her eyes. Of course Tom would propose. Boring, vanilla Tom who caters to her every whim and desire. “We talked about this last night. I said no.”

 

He’s boring and she’s even more bored. She’s been laying by the pool of her father’s Hollywood mansion all week, and it’s not that she’s ungrateful for the wealthy lifestyle, but she is utterly _bored._ She needs excitement, and risk, and chaos. Spontaneity and someone who’s willing to go along with it. Something to get her pulse racing.

 

“Chlo-bear, do you have any idea how hard it is to find a good husband in this city?”

 

“Okay,” she says with a smile as she watches the house butler deliver a tray to her poolside lounge, stocked with a glass of chilled water from the Alps, a flawless red apple, and a polished black onyx box. She lifts its lid. “I’ll marry you.”

 

Tom pumps his fist in the air.

 

“On one condition.” Chloe lifts the gleaming six-shooter revolver from its box and plucks out a bullet, inspecting it before popping it into the cylinder and closing it. She turns to Tom and smiles, offering him the apple. “You have to trust me.”

 

Tom looks at the apple, and gun, and her. “You’re serious?”

 

Chloe sighs, impatient. “Do you want to marry me or not?”

 

“Yes, of course I do!” Tom grabs the apple from her and works to balance it on his head.

 

With a nod and a smile Chloe walks away, twenty paces and turns. “If you move, the wedding’s off.”

 

“Okay.” Tom’s trying to play it cool, but she can see his nerves in the way the muscles in his jaw twitch and pulse as he clenches it. She lifts the revolver and cocks the hammer. “Wait, Chloe - is this a good idea?”

 

“Don’t speak,” she admonishes with a squint down the barrel to draw a bead on the center of the apple. She squeezes the trigger -

 

“Wait!” Tom yells, staggering forward - and hitting the ground.

 

The apple rolls away unharmed to drop into the swimming pool, as Tom rolls on the ground screaming.

 

Chloe sighs - in disappointment that he couldn’t trust her and in relief that she won’t be marrying him. She turns to the butler. “Will you call 911?”

 

\----------------------------------------///~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~///----------------------------------------

\----------------------------------------///~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~///----------------------------------------

 

“So I’m thinking...what if it’s ‘Anaconda’ and ‘Milkshake’?” Beca looks expectantly across the table in the Best Buy break room.

 

“That’s _genius_ ,” Amy says excitedly.

 

Cynthia-Rose shrugs. “Kind of predictable, isn't it?”

 

“It’s not predict-” Her protest is cut off by their supervisor walking in to hover in the doorway.

 

“Beca, can I see you in my office?”

 

Her coworkers _ooh_ dramatically and she scoffs, following her supervisor through the drab hallway into an even more drab office.

 

“I’ll keep this brief.” The woman doesn’t bother sitting and instead retrieves an envelope from her desk and hands it to Beca. “Your services are no longer required.”

 

Beca blinks hard. And again. “You’re...firing me? Ms. Abernathy, I don’t -”

 

“The company has decided to pay the $5 per month for unlimited Spotify rather than pay a full-time salary for someone to create  _mood playlists._ ”

 

“That’s...you know that’s not the only thing I do here, right? I’m the Audio department supervisor -” She’s cut off with a wave of a hand.

 

“That will be all. Your final pay and two weeks’ severance is there,” Ms. Abernathy says with a nod toward the envelope in Beca’s hand. “Along with all the necessary paperwork. I trust you can see yourself out without incident. Or do I need to call security?”

 

“No, I...I’m going.” Beca’s stunned, to say the least. She doesn’t even say goodbye to her friends, just gathers her things from her locker and leaves.

 

She’s pissed. It’s not like being a supervisor at Best Buy was on her dream board or whatever, but at least she got to play with high-end equipment all day, and talk shop with fellow audiophiles, and put together those playlists. More importantly, it was a paycheck. She ends up at her usual bar, nursing a whiskey.

 

“Beca? What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the day.”

 

She looks up from where she’s been watching the amber colored liquid swirl in her glass to see her boyfriend. “Hey, Jesse.”

 

“You’re supposed to be at work. What’s going on?”

 

“I got fired.”

 

“Oh.” Jesse frowns and busies himself wiping the rings of condensation from the bar in front of Beca. “Well...then I guess this is a good a time as any…”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Beca...I think we should see other people.”

 

Beca laughs. Disdain is the only emotion that seems to be functioning right now, so she laughs. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?”

 

“I...I met someone, she’s a lawyer, and...we’re moving in together.”

 

“You’re seriously doing this to me? Today, of all days? Jess -”

 

“Beca, I love you but get your head out of the clouds. We’re getting too old for you to be spinning your wheels. You’re twenty-two and you sell stereo equipment at Best Buy.”

 

“Not anymore,” she grumbles to herself. “ _You’re_ twenty-two and you work at a bar!” she argues, gesturing at his stupid self, standing in front of the wall of liquor.

 

“On top of my full-time job because someone needs to make enough money to pay the rent,” he says with a sigh. “Beca, I’m sorry. I’ll have my stuff out of the apartment tonight. I gave notice to the landlord that we’re canceling our lease at the end of the month.”

 

“Jesse! That’s...that’s tomorrow!”

 

He walks away, though, and she’s left to her own devices and drink.

 

* * *

 

She wakes up in bed at home - alone. Unsure how she even got there. There’s an ungodly racket, and first she thinks it’s in her head until she opens her eyes and sits up. She traces the noise to the window, and the source of it is the tow truck hooking up to her car.

 

Her car for which she’s missed the last six payments.

 

She yells and swears at them from the window, but the men ignore her and work more quickly, and then they’re gone.

 

It’s only then that she notices Jesse’s stuff is gone. She’d apparently slept through his hasty exit. She hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye - or if she did, she didn’t remember it.

 

Her job. Her car. Her relationship. Her home. Her  _life_. She feels unstable - which is an understatement. She feels desperate. In a tailspin. She has nothing,  _literally_ nothing. She has no money and needs to move out but has no car to put her stuff into and drive to whatever new place she doesn’t have and can’t afford. She feels something snap inside and she grabs her leather jacket and purse and runs out the door.

 

\----------------------------------------///~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~///----------------------------------------

\----------------------------------------///~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~///----------------------------------------

 

“I cannot believe this. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find a good husband in this city?”

 

Chloe’s in her father’s office, summoned there by an assistant who was nice enough to warn her that he was angry. She’s sitting in one of the leather armchairs, picking at a few pieces of lint that have appeared on her blue wool peacoat.

 

“You’re lucky he’s still alive. You, disgracing yourself and this family. I don’t want you to end up like your mother: a bottom-feeder.”

 

“Her biggest problem was marrying a man like you.”

 

His face hardens and he moves behind his desk. “It’s time for you to start working.”

 

That gets her attention. “What?”

 

“You’ve spent twenty-five years living in the lap of luxury that I gave you. You’re going to start working here, for me. Learn the value of a dollar, how to turn a loss into a profit.”

 

His rant is interrupted by the door to his office bursting open, a girl red-faced with anger storming through it, finger pointing accusingly.

 

“You had me fired?” the girl yells, advancing on him. She sounds like she’s had a few drinks. “You think you can just...just...my boyfriend left me because of you! And...and you got my car repossessed!”

 

She’s ranting, borderline incoherent, and Chloe watches with a smile from her chair. Whatever is happening is greatly entertaining and far more interesting than her father’s lecture about hard work - and he’s so bored by this scene that he turns away to gaze out the window. Now she knows where she gets her need for excitement from.

 

Four security guards follow a few seconds later and one of them seizes the girl by the arms and wrestles her down to the floor but it’s not without a fight that draws the other three guards to the floor; she’s small but she’s feisty, and she emerges from the dogpile of blue uniforms with one of the guards’ guns in her hand.

 

“Don’t move! Nobody fucking move!” She makes her way to her feet, fumbling with the gun, but she doesn’t track the guards and what they’re doing and an elbow to her gut has her on the ground again, the gun sliding across the marble floor to stop next to Chloe’s foot.

 

She looks down at it and sees the girl working her way out from the pile of men twice her size...and kicks the gun back to her before ducking away to slip around the corner into safety.

 

A gunshot rings out and there’s the sound of men yelling and scrabbling and a shrill, “Get down on the floor! Everyone! I want my job back, Mr. Beale. I’m going to count to five and if you don’t give it to me…” Chloe watches from the corner; the girl has the gun drawn on her father who is cowering on the floor, and it’s shaking unsteadily. “One!” The girl counts off threateningly. “Two! Three!”

 

Nothing happens.

 

Her father starts laughing at the girl’s hesitation.

 

“Four!” She sounds determined this time and cocks the gun, but she doesn’t proceed.

 

“Five!” Chloe shouts and it makes the girl jump and pull the trigger, hitting her father in the thigh.

 

“Oh my God, why’d you do that?!” the girl yells over her shoulder as she runs to the man she just shot.

 

“Five comes after four,” Chloe says, stepping out from the protection of the wall.

 

“I know that!”

 

“Well, I thought maybe you didn’t, it’s not your fault if you didn’t get proper education, or -”

 

“Shut up!” the brunette yells.

 

“I was just trying to help.”

 

“I don’t need any help!”

 

“You’ll die for this!” her father yells from the floor, grabbing at the girl unsuccessfully.

 

“You could shoot him again.” Chloe rushes over to join her, buzzing from the action. “In the head this time. I’ll count to five!”

 

“Shut up!” the girl yells again, pulling at her hair anxiously. “Who are you anyway?”

 

“Nobody!” her father screams.

 

Chloe smiles. She's about to really make things interesting. “I’m his daughter.”

 

\----------------------------------------///~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~///----------------------------------------

\----------------------------------------///~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~///----------------------------------------

 

Beca doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’s lost her mind, she’s sure of it. She’s committed at least three felonies, maybe more, and they’re racking up by the minute as now she has the daughter of her boss’s boss at gunpoint in an elevator as a hostage to help her escape.

 

However, the girl has hardly resisted, at times leading the way, only succumbing to being a victim when they stepped into the parking garage to see a few businessmen talking on their way into the building. That’s when the girl goes stiff with fear, yet leans into the barrel of the gun that’s pointed at her head, and lets herself be pulled into the car that’s quickly abandoned by its driver with a wave of that gun. She shoves the redhead into the driver’s seat and locks the doors once she’s in the passenger’s.

 

“Drive!”

 

“I can’t!”

 

“Just drive!”

 

“I can’t, I don’t know how!”

 

Beca lowers her gun for a second. “You don’t know how to drive?”

 

“I never learned.”

 

“In LA? Why not?”

 

“I didn’t need to!”

 

“Wow,” Beca says with a laugh. “Spoiled girl. Well, you’re going to have to learn. The pedal on the right makes it go faster, on the left, slower.” She points the gun again when she sees more security running toward them. “Now drive!”

 

She does, almost barreling through the guards who dodge out of the way at the last second, and Beca notes she’s now added Grand Theft Auto to her list of felonies that already include Attempted Murder, Assault with a Deadly Weapon, and Kidnapping.

 

A few minutes of swerving and jerking later, they’re on the highway. “Where are we going?” the girl asks.

 

“It doesn’t matter.” The car swerves again and the girl honks. “Jesus, be careful!”

 

“He cut me off!”

 

\----------------------------------------///~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~///----------------------------------------

\----------------------------------------///~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~///----------------------------------------

 

Chloe sees a light illuminate on the console and glances at it. “We need gas.”

 

It’s another twenty miles down a two-lane desert highway before they come across a stark and ancient gas station and her kidnapper directs her to pull in. She parks, best she can with her lack of skill, alongside a gas pump and sees an attendant strolling out to greet them.

 

“Keep your mouth shut,” the girl says, shoving the gun under her leg and out of sight.

 

Chloe rolls down her window to smile at the young man in black coveralls. He greets them cheerfully and rattles off a speech about their great rest stop that tells her he has far too much time and far too few customers.

 

“Is this a gas station?” the girl barks, cutting him off.

 

“It sure is, ma’am!”

 

“Then fill it up with gas and cut the shit.”

 

The boy sulks off and Chloe watches him in her side mirror, feeling bad that the girl with the gun yelled at him for no reason. “He was just doing his job, trying to be helpful.” The girl is silent, staring straight ahead. “You’re in a lot of trouble, you know. My father’s going to have you killed. You realize that?” No reaction. “Tortured first, naturally.” She watches the attendant squeegee the windshield. “But then he’ll have you killed.”

 

The girl next to her shifts. “What if I let you go?”

 

“I don’t know,” Chloe says with a thoughtful sigh. “What do you think? Think he’s just going to forgive you?”

 

She sees the girl straighten. “Why would I ask him to forgive me? He treated me like a piece of shit, like I’m a nobody.”

 

Her blossoming rant is interrupted by the attendant poking his head through the passenger window to announce the tank is full.

 

“Thank you!” Chloe says cheerfully before casting a side-eye at the girl, who digs into her pocket for a small wad of cash to shove at him.

 

The girl hesitates, and Chloe sees her hand him another twenty dollar bill. “Don’t let anyone treat you like you don’t matter.” She rolls up her window and looks at Chloe. “What? Drive.”

 

* * *

 

Beca peers through the windshield at the outline of the house they’ve come upon. It’s dark and on the outskirts of a town. It's her grandparents’ house, in name only. They long ago moved into a retirement village in Boca Raton.

 

She breaks one of the small glass panels in the door to reach through and unlock it and shove the spoiled redhead into the house with the gun to her back. “In that chair. Sit.”

 

She watches as the girl lowers herself into an old chair and then works quickly, ripping a sheet into a few strips to tie her arms and legs to it. “Just so you know,” she says as she ties knots. “I’m not going to hurt you, but I’m the kidnapper and you’re the...the...”

 

“Victim,” the girl finishes when she hesitates.

 

“And that’s just the way it is.”

 

“It’s okay, I’ve been through this before.”

 

Beca’s on her knees behind her to tie a strip of bedsheet around her middle and knot it behind the chair. “You’ve been kidnapped before?”

 

“Yep,” she says, shifting in the chair and taking a deep breath before the knot pulled tight. “I was twelve.”

 

“God. I’m sorry, that’s horrible.” Beca finishes the knot and rips another strip to work on the girl’s right arm.

 

“It was a long time ago.”

 

“So...how am I doing?” Beca flinches at her own question because everything about this situation is otherworldly and flat-out weird.

 

“With the kidnapping?”

 

Beca sits back to start tying her ankles. “Yeah.”

 

“Well, so far you’re doing okay.”

 

It makes Beca feel proud, for some reason, for this girl to give her what barely could be construed as praise. “Thanks. Uh, so, I’m only tying you up so you can’t escape overnight when I’m asleep.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Because, obviously, you would.”

 

“Are you going to try to have sex with me?”

 

The question is so unexpected that it takes Beca aback and she stumbles several steps. “No.”

 

“Isn’t that why you brought me here?”

 

“No!”

 

“It didn’t even cross your mind?”

 

“No! Well -” For a split second her mind twists the reason she tied the girl to the chair but she shakes away the thought. “No!”

 

The redhead frowns at her. “Do you have a problem with sex?”

 

“What? No. What even is this conversation?” Beca turns away uncomfortably.

 

“So you’re just scared of it?”

 

Beca spins but puts more distance between them. “No!”

 

The girl looks thoughtful. “Nervous then?”

 

“I’m not nervous!” Beca yells.

 

“Okay, then calm down!”

 

“I’m calm!” She grabs a blanket. “I’m just trying to explain there’s no... _sexual_ motive behind this.”

 

She advances and drapes the blanket over the girl, tucking it around and behind her shoulders. It brings their faces uncomfortably close and the girl looks up at her, and there’s a look in her eye. “I’m glad we got that cleared up,” the girl says.

 

She steps away, hands on her hips, thinking. “So what did your first kidnapper do next?”

 

“He used a needle, drew my blood, sent it to my father. Once a week for six weeks until he finally paid up and they let me go. _That’s_ what being a victim is.”

 

* * *

 

Beca wakes early; they need supplies if she is going to manage to keep that girl held hostage for six weeks from her shitty father who not only fucked over her own life but apparently doesn’t care enough to be quick about getting his daughter back. She’d checked on the girl when she left - sleeping peacefully, if awkwardly, in the chair she’d been bound to last night.

 

When Beca returns to the house, however, she walks in to find the chair empty, the bindings on the floor around it. She’s struck with panic, that her victim has escaped, sure to turn her in to the authorities, but the panic is quickly replaced with...disappointment.

 

A sound to her right catches her attention and there, in an armchair, cuddled up with a blanket, turning the pages of a book, is her victim. She smiles to herself and kicks the door closed. “Enjoying the book?”

 

“No.”

 

“What's it about?”

 

“It's a romance. Girl meets boy. They fall in love. It’s bullshit and boring.”

 

“Love is bullshit,” Beca agrees. “Like movie endings. I’m more about telling stories through music.” She sets the groceries on the table, helplessly excited by the topic. “I’m working on original music, I want to be a songwriter, and I’ve written a really good -”

 

“I'm not interested in you or your music,” her victim interrupts angrily, “or any other pathetic ambition you have to change your boring life.”

 

Beca halts her excited advance, hurt. She approaches her carefully. “Do you want to go get some fresh air?”

 

“No.”

 

“You can’t say no to me,” Beca says, trying to be firm. “You’re the victim.”

 

“I want to read my book.”

 

“You just said it’s bullshit!”

 

The girl stares hard at the pages. “That doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying it.”

 

“You just said you weren’t!”

 

The redhead’s eyes snap to hers, fiery. “A girl can change her mind!”

 

Beca grits her teeth and yanks the book out of the girl’s hands and then pulls the gun from its home in the back of her pants to point it at her. “Get up. We’re going outside.”

 

* * *

 

She takes a seat on the porch, the sound of wood being split with an ax relaxing her as she turns the pages of the book, a definite romance, the girl wielding the power in the relationship. The story quickly turns sexual and she puts it down in haste.

 

“That’s good enough,” she calls out.

 

The chopping ceases and she knows she’s probably being a little too obvious with her ogling as the redhead, who’d stripped off her blouse to conduct the physical labor in her jeans and a tight tank top, is now sweating and panting and lifting her hair off her neck. A hint of a smile touching her rosy lips makes Beca scramble to her feet, feeling caught, and she shoves the revolver into the back of her pants to go inside to stand aimlessly in the kitchen.

 

She hears the door close a few seconds later and it’s followed by three loud thunks on the wooden floor, and then there are footsteps and another door slamming. The pipes in the ceiling above her pop and shimmy and she figures the girl is helping herself to a shower.

 

The image that flashes through her mind motivates her, and she rushes to retrieve the logs that were dropped by the door to shove one into the smoldering coals of the ancient kitchen stove and sets to unpacking the groceries, still sitting on the table.

 

She manages to only burn two things, one of them being her finger, over the course of the endeavor, and when she sets down a plate full of steak, potatoes, and vegetables in front of her victim who’s waiting at the table, she’s positively giddy.

 

She digs into her own steak immediately; she didn’t know how ravenous she was, but apparently holding someone hostage really works up an appetite. She’s still savoring the bite when she notices the girl across from her staring at her plate. “You’re not hungry?” she asks, swallowing.

 

“I don’t eat red meat. You made steak.”

 

“Oh. Well...you can still eat the vegetables.”

 

“They’re on the same plate as the steak.”

 

“And?”

 

“And I’m not going to eat this.”

 

Beca sets down her knife and fork and scratches at her brow. “What about fish or chicken?”

 

“Yeah, I eat those.”

 

“But no red meat?”

 

“No.”

 

This irritates Beca; she was proud of what she’d cooked, and this girl was going to waste it. “Then why didn’t you tell me you don’t like meat?”

 

“You didn’t ask!”

 

“Oh my God, why are you being such a pain in the ass today?” Beca says, exasperated.

 

“Because you tied me to a chair all night! Because I’m the victim! And you’re the kidnapper. Apparently.”

 

That offends Beca, too. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“Kidnapping For Beginners! You haven’t even asked for a ransom! You’re just wasting everyone’s time keeping me here.”

 

Beca’s mouth falls open. She’s both mad and annoyed and still offended that she won’t eat the steak. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and then freezes. “Fuck, do you still have your phone? I didn’t like...search you or whatever.”

 

With a roll of her eyes, the girl wriggles and then drops her own cell phone onto the table. “I didn’t use it.”

 

Beca grabs it. “Good. What’s your dad’s number? I’ll find it, just tell me your passcode.”

 

“1-2-3-4-5-6.”

 

Beca types it in and watches the phone come to life. “Seriously? That’s your passcode?”

 

“I don’t have anything to hide,” she says with a shrug. “He’s in my contacts under ‘Dad.’”

 

“I kinda figured,” Beca replies with a roll of her eyes. She finds the listing and dials the number from her own phone, adding *67 to it to block her number.  “Don’t say a word. What’s your name by the way?”

 

“Chloe.”

 

“I’m Beca,” she says with a smile and then the phone’s ringing and she shifts nervously, a man answering.

 

“Hello, uh, Mr. Beale? It’s me. I want my...me. The kidnapper! I have Chloe, and, what I want - It’s not like that! That’s unfair, I wouldn’t -” The phone is yanked from her hand, the call cut off before she can finish. “What are you doing?”

 

“No, what are _you_ doing?” Chloe’s sitting on the table next to Beca’s plate.

 

“Trying to negotiate with your dad!”

 

“Negotiating is a weakness. _You_ are the kidnapper.” Chloe pokes Beca in the chest. “You go in hard and fast. Make your demand, and make him comply.”

 

Beca’s mind hiccups. “Hard and fast. Right.”

 

“You gotta psych yourself up for,” Chloe says, straightening her back and squaring her shoulders. “I’ll pretend to be you.” She takes the phone from Beca and holds it to her ear, and with a voice so deep it makes Beca jump, starts yelling into it, “Okay you fucker, I’m holding your daughter hostage and I’m sending her head back to you in a box if I don’t get what I want!” She relaxes. “And so on, but no longer than twenty seconds to not risk a trace. I doubt he has anyone tracing his incoming calls though.”

 

“What...the fuck was that?” Beca asks as she takes her phone back. “You sounded like a dude.”

 

“Oh.” Chloe runs her fingers over her throat. “I had a vocal cord thing. So my voice can go crazy deep now.”

 

“O...kay? Well, wow to all of that.” Beca unlocks her phone and calls again. “Hi, Mr. Beale?”

  
Chloe grabs the phone from her and disconnects the call. “Seriously? Beca. Come on.” Chloe reconnects the call, this time putting it on speaker and holding it.

 

_“Hello?”_

 

“Okay, listen, you asshole, I have your -”

 

_“Who’s calling, please?”_

 

Beca stops; the voice is female. “I need to speak to Mr. Beale.”

 

_“He’s not available right now. Is there someone else who can assist you?”_

 

“No, sorry, thank you,” Beca says with a groan and Chloe disconnects the call with a huff.

 

“Beca, seriously.”

 

“I’ve never done this before, okay? Give me a break.” Beca grabs the phone away and calls again, taking it off speaker. She takes a breath, ready to yell threateningly. “LOOK! I’M HOLDING...yes, I’ll hold.”

 

“I can’t,” Chloe says and slides off the table. Beca can feel her pacing behind her.

 

When a voice returns to the line, Beca’s ready. “I HAVE YOUR DAUGHTER AND I’M GOING TO SEND HER BACK TO YOU IN PIECES IF...oh, no, I’m sorry ma’am,” she deflates, holding her head in her hand. “I wasn’t holding for you, I must have been transferred wrong...No, I don’t have your daughter, I have someone else’s...No, I’m not married...Yeah I know, it’s hard to find a good partner in this city...I’m sure your daughter’s very nice...I mean, I have no objections to meeting her, but -”

 

The phone is yanked away from her, and Chloe gives her shoulder a shove. “What?”

 

“You should just send a letter.”

 

* * *

 

It’s early afternoon. Beca’s working on her anonymous letter, wearing gloves and cutting letters and words out of old newspapers and magazines laying around the house. She can hear Chloe, who’s been lounging on the bed in the lofted bedroom, laughing at some video she’s watching on her phone. When there’s a lull in the noise, Beca catches the distinct sound of a board squeaking on the front porch, followed by a polite three knocks. Chloe’s phone goes silent and Beca knows they’re both staring at the door.

 

Her heart is racing, and the knock comes again. She gets up and creeps across the room, not wanting to give away the fact that anyone is there, but she’s pretty sure that if someone came knocking on that door, they either need help or they already know someone’s there.

 

She hesitates and then pulls the door open just enough to see and be seen, but not an inch more. It’s a woman, brunette, tall. She looks up from filing her nails at the opening of the door. “Hello.”

 

“Hi,” Beca edges.

 

“I’m Stacie Conrad. I live up the street.” She points over her shoulder toward the winding road and what Beca assumes is her house up on a hill.

 

Beca bites a smile. “That’s nice.”

 

“Saw you guys roll in the other night. This place has been empty for awhile. Thought I’d come say hello, see who’s visiting.”

 

“Well, that’s...a perfectly logical thing to wonder and...not at all invasive.” Beca feels herself floundering, unable to come up with basic, generic conversation; improv really wasn’t her thing.

 

“Well? Who are you?”

 

“I - I…” she feels a hand at her back and then the door is pulled out of her tight grip. Chloe slides up beside her, and when Beca turns to look at her, sees she’s wearing...nothing but the sheet from the bed.

 

“We’re newlyweds,” Chloe says with a dreamy smile. She turns to Beca and leans in to speak closely. “Are you coming back to bed soon, baby?”

 

Beca’s mouth goes dry at the way Chloe is looking at her and gestures at the uninvited guest. “This is...this is Stacie.”

 

“Hi!” Chloe says with a peppier smile as she offers her hand to be shaken.

 

“Nice to meet you…?” Stacie says expectantly.

 

“You can call me Sharon. You’re not from TMZ are you?”

 

Beca looks at Chloe, confused. _Sharon?_

 

“TMZ? No.”

 

“Oh, good,” Chloe sighs. “Please don’t tell them we’re here. They never leave us alone, on account of Dinah.”

 

Stacie looks at Beca, trying to place her. “Dinah?”

 

“You recognize Dinah, yeah? Dinah Lord? Six gold albums, three platinum. Fourteen consecutive Top Ten singles. The best-selling artist worldwide for the last year? Dinah Lord!”

 

 _Dinah Lord?!_ _What the fuck kind of name is that?_ Beca has no choice but to roll with whatever story Chloe is concocting right now because to do anything else would blow their cover, and this Stacie girl looks like she likes to gossip and finding out about a hostage situation in her neighborhood would probably fit that bill nicely.

 

“Nah, I don’t keep up with celebrity gossip,” the girl says with a shake of the head and proving Beca’s theory wrong. “I mostly watch DIY shows and documentaries.” She leans in to speak conspiratorially. “I’ll admit to watching E!, but that’s a guilty pleasure and I only tune in for the Kardashians.”

 

“Oh, that’s okay,” Chloe says with a giggle, and then speaks in a hushed tone to match Stacie’s. “We got married in secret. In a castle in Scotland. It was so romantic,” she sighs as she says it, looking at Beca again, and it makes her squirm. “We stayed there for our honeymoon, but it wasn’t long enough so we came here for a little privacy. My friend’s parents own the place.” Chloe’s close enough that Beca can feel her breath on her lips as she speaks and she masks a shiver by scratching at the back of her neck. “Where are my manners!” Chloe says with a hop as she turns her attention back to Stacie. “Would you like to come in?”

 

Stacie shifts, considering the offer, and Beca watches her look Chloe up and down, and then at Beca. “Maybe another time. I’m on my way to work.”

 

“Okay, well, it was nice meeting you, Stacie. See you around!” Chloe says with a wink and a wave before tilting her head at Beca to beckon her back into the house.

 

Beca stares at Chloe’s naked back on full display where the blanket droops behind her to sit at her hips and watches her climb the stairs back to the bedroom. “Uh...yeah, so, see you later, Stacie.”

 

“Take care, Dinah!”

 

Beca closes the door and Chloe laughs from her seat the edge of the bed. She’s dropped the sheet and pulls her tank top on, and though it’s quick, it’s not quick enough to preclude Beca from getting a full topless view.

 

She distracts herself by going back to working on her ransom note, gluing a cut-out letter N onto the word ‘again.’ She’s proud of it, it looks like a legit ransom note, all mismatched letters that so far reads:

 

**I HAVE YOUR DAUGHTER. IF YOU WANT TO SEE HER AGAIN IT WILL COST**

 

She’s not finished with it yet, and she’s working on finding the word ‘you’ in a magazine when Chloe hops down the stairs and plucks the note off the table to read it.

 

Beca smiles at her. “Thanks for the thing with Stacie.”

 

Chloe smiles back and looks at the letter, then frowns. “What is this?”

 

“My ransom note. It’s anonymous!”

 

“Beca!” She turns the paper around so Beca can read it. “My dad knows who you are. You aren’t anonymous.”

 

Beca’s face falls, her moment of pride dashed. “Oh...yeah I didn’t think of that.”

 

Chloe tosses the note back onto the table. “You’re the worst kidnapper I’ve ever met.”

 

Something in Beca twists. She doesn’t like Chloe criticizing her, reducing her to her actions. “And that’s all I am to you, huh? Just your next kidnapper. If this one fails, someone else will be waiting.”

 

“Oh my gosh, Beca, stop being so dramatic.”

 

“ _I’m_ being dramatic? I’m trying my best, you know. And you keep criticizing everything I do. I’ve never done this before!”

 

She sees Chloe’s expression soften at this. “How much are you going to ask for?”

 

“Half a million?” she answers hesitantly.

 

“Dollars?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“US dollars?”

 

Beca frowns. “Obviously. What’s the problem now?”

 

“I’m worth more than half a million dollars! If that’s all you think I’m worth -”

 

“I didn’t...no, you’re worth way more than that to me!” Beca bites her tongue and plops onto an ottoman. That sentence sounded a lot like the beginnings of a love note.

 

It doesn’t seem to go unnoticed by Chloe, and she smiles for a second. “It’s okay. You’re trying hard. Let’s just...remember that we could make millions of dollars here.”

 

Beca sits up straight. “We?”

 

“Yes, Beca,” Chloe says like it was obvious all along. “You and me.”

 

“That’s...not usually how kidnappings and ransoms go.”

 

Chloe leans against the table and smiles. “Nope.”

 

* * *

 

They step things up after that. Beca burns the ransom note in the oven and Chloe takes over the threatening phone calls, not with her scarily deep voice but with her own, coming up with elaborate and disturbing scenarios which she screams into the phone in tears, begging her father to give her kidnapper whatever she wants so she can be set free.

 

After the third call in three days, and her father, sounding rather non-plussed, saying he was ‘working on it,’ Chloe tosses her phone onto the couch and sighs, visibly dejected.

 

“Let’s go out.” Beca isn’t sure where the confidence is coming from, but she doesn’t like Chloe looking sad.

 

“Out where?”

 

“For a drink.”

 

“Like…” Chloe swallows. “Like on a date?”

 

Beca smiles. She hadn’t presented it as one, but she really likes that Chloe interpreted it as such.  “Yeah. Like a date.”

 

\----------------------------------------///~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~///----------------------------------------

\----------------------------------------///~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~///----------------------------------------

 

They wind up at some dive bar because it looked to be the only bar in the nearby town, and Chloe smiles at Beca over the edge of her martini glass. Beca’s two whiskeys in it’s loosened her up enough that when Chloe asked her if she was seeing anyone, she spilled.

 

“I wouldn’t call it a _bad_ relationship,” Beca says, slurring just a tiny, adorable bit. “Jesse and I...you know, we grew apart. It was amenable.”

 

“Amicable?” Chloe suggests.

 

“Amicable, right.”

 

Chloe nods. “So, he dumped you.”

 

Beca’s denial is immediate and vehement, and Chloe just raises her eyebrows at her, and Beca sags. “He dumped me.”

 

“Mmm. The lawyer.”

 

Beca sits up again. “How did you know?”

 

“You look like someone who got dumped for a lawyer.”

 

“I do?” Beca looks down at her hands and arms, as though such a characteristic is plainly obvious.

 

“Yeah. But obviously, you weren’t meant to be together. You want to do your music thing, and he wanted somebody that has their crap together now. No offense. Am I right? It’s a super common scenario.”

 

Beca scratches her nose, and Chloe thinks it’s arguably her cutest characteristic. “Yeah, pretty much.”

 

Chloe preens proudly and slips out of the booth to speak to the bartender. Beca seems to be lost in thought when she returns. “Let’s play a game,” Chloe says with a grin. “If I win, I go free.”

 

Beca shakes her head. “You  _are_ free. You can leave now, I don’t care. I’m no more a kidnapper than I am Dinah Lord.”

 

Chloe’s about to comment on that when a waiter shows up with a tray stacked with shot glasses and a bottle of tequila. She starts lining the glasses in front of them, five for her and five for Beca, and pours. “Indulge me, Beca.”

 

“Well, if that’s what you want.”

 

She smiles and bites her lower lip for a moment. “It’s all I ever want. First to finish all five wins.”

 

Beca shakes her head, eyes wide as she surveys the copious amount of liquor placed before her. “Down the hatch,” she says as she adjusts the glasses.

 

“Go!” Chloe says and she swallows shot after shot. It burns and makes her eyes water, and she’s swallowing the fifth and final when Beca sets down her fourth empty glass.

 

Beca sputters and finishes the fifth shot anyway, her entire body seeming to recoil from it. “You won. I guess you’re free.”

 

Chloe wipes her mouth. “Yep.”

 

“Well, aren’t you going to leave?”

 

Chloe just shakes her head. “We don’t have our money yet.”

 

Beca’s quiet for a minute, and she’s about to respond when the bad karaoke in the background draws to a close and some girl is shouting to encourage a pathetic amount of applause for the individual who just drunkenly embarrassed himself on stage. Chloe looks up and is tickled to recognize the person manning the microphone - none other than their afternoon visitor, Stacie.

 

Stacie recognizes them, too, and lights up, pointing right at their table. “Ladies and gentleman, we are in the presence of a celebrity tonight! And I’m going to ask her to come up and sing a song for us!”

 

Beca sees what’s happening and shrinks. “Oh no.”

 

“She’s the best-selling artist in the world with twelve gold albums...sixteen platinum albums…”

 

Chloe giggles; it seems either Stacie isn’t good with numbers or she’s had a few, too. She sees her pause to take a swig of a beer and Chloe guesses it’s the latter.

 

“And thirty-two number-one hit singles! Welcome to the stage, Dinah Ford!"

 

“Oh my God,” Beca says, going pale at the eruption of legitimate applause, nothing at all like the smattering that came a minute earlier.

 

Chloe gestures toward the stage. “You better go! The people demand their star!” She claps and whistles and laughs as Beca, much to her surprise, actually slides out of the booth, albeit slowly, and makes her way to the stage.

 

“Um, thanks,” Beca says into the mic, and the applause dies down. “My name is…” she meets Chloe’s gaze and Chloe winks at her. It seems to bring a blush to Beca’s cheeks, or maybe it’s the tequila settling in, but either way, Chloe likes it. “My name is Dinah Lord, and uh…” Beca smiles at her. “I’d like to dedicate this to my beautiful wife, Sharon.”

 

It’s Chloe’s turn to blush, and the collective “Awww” from the bar patrons makes her giddy. She sees Beca turn to Stacie and say something to her, who in turn taps a few buttons on a keyboard on the side of the small stage, and after an eight-count, Beca is singing a shockingly crystal clear series of _Oohs_ into the mic.

 

“ _Oh her eyes, her eyes make the stars look like they’re not shining…”_

 

Chloe positively shudders. Beca’s voice is unexpected and perfect, and she’s very much singing to Chloe a song about how perfect she is. And maybe it’s the amount of liquor she’s consumed, or maybe it’s a real crush, or maybe it’s Stockholm Syndrome - no, she shakes that thought away; the only control Beca’s held over her this entire ordeal totals not more than thirty minutes, and even then, Chloe had gone along willingly with everything. And Beca’s a good person, that much has been obvious from the start: another person just trying to get by, to strike out a path for herself only to get screwed over by The Man, who just happened to be Chloe’s father. And then get dumped. Chloe had been rude to her - not that it wasn’t unwarranted, given the whole hostage situation - but she _likes_ Beca, and she  _likes_ the fact that Beca likes music and has big dreams for herself.

 

Chloe can’t fathom how anyone could break up with a girl like Beca - or Beca specifically. Chloe’s quite certain if she had Beca, she’d never let her go.

 

It’s that thought that pulls her onto the stage during the second chorus to take the extra mic, and Beca seems surprised at first, and then when Chloe starts singing and harmonizes with her, seems  _shocked_ and then Beca’s grinning.

 

Chloe’s not prepared for it when Beca changes songs, breaking into “Just A Dream” overtop the Bruno Mars melody, and when Chloe falters in surprise, Beca just winds her arm to gesture for Chloe to keep going with the original song. She doesn’t understand how, but the two songs fit together like they’re meant to be, and when she looks at Beca to find her looking right back, singing to her, smiling at her...she can’t help but think the two of them are meant to be, too.

 

\----------------------------------------///~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~///----------------------------------------

\----------------------------------------///~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~///----------------------------------------

 

Beca’s head is pounding. Hungover again, the second time in a week. Her entire body aches and her mouth tastes...well, it tastes like  _something_. She senses someone watching her and she pries her eyes open to see Chloe sitting on the edge of the mattress, just looking at her thoughtfully.

 

“Morning, sunshine,” Chloe says with a smile. She isn’t wearing any pants.

 

Beca shifts and is instantly made aware that she’s naked underneath the sheet draped across her body. “Oh, God. What happened?”

 

“You were great.” She bites her lip after she says it and it makes Beca grow warm.

 

“I was?”

 

“Mhmm.” Chloe bends and returns with Beca’s shirt in her hand to toss it to her before turning to stroll down the stairs to the kitchen.

 

“I remember drinking tequila,” Beca says as she works on mustering the energy to get dressed.

 

“There was definitely tequila!” Chloe calls back to her and Beca can hear the tell-tale sounds of the coffee pot being emptied and reset and the scent arrives shortly thereafter, encouraging her to pull on her shirt and venture downstairs.

 

When she gets there, Chloe’s sitting at the table, a piece of paper in front of her and a razor blade in her hand.

 

“Whoa, what are you doing?” Beca rushes up to her and makes to grab for it.

 

“Getting us our money. You want to write a letter, let’s do it in my blood.”

 

“Oh my God, no. That is so fucked up, I mean...why don’t we just like...catch a...gopher or something? Not that I condone animal cruelty but...seriously?”

 

“They’re going to test it to see if it’s mine, duh,” Chloe says with a smile, as though Beca just dripped salsa down her shirt rather than voiced an objection to hurting herself. “I’ll be fine. Just don’t look. But you’ll have to write it. They’ll test your handwriting, too.”

 

Beca tries not to look, but she does.

 

And faints.

 

* * *

 

It works, though, and three days later, they’re strolling along the road to the designated point. They would have driven, but  _someone_ left the dome light on in the stolen car and it was dead. Beca has a rope slung over her shoulder. She’s asked Chloe about her own romantic past, having remembered fragments of their tequila-fueled night to include her having talked about Jesse.

 

“Jeremy was nice, you know,” Chloe muses. “Rich. Respectable family. Good sense of humor.”

 

“And?”

 

“And fifty-three years old.”

 

“Oh my God,” Beca says with a barked laugh. “What a shame.”

 

“Yeah. Then there was Shane. Rich again. But so boring. Conventional.”

 

“Rich dudes suck.”

 

“And then I met Tony. My age. So cute. Considerate. Rich, but not boring.”

 

“And?” Beca prompts when Chloe falls silent.

 

“We...grew apart. It was amenable.”

 

Beca laughs at Chloe referencing Beca’s own recent break-up. “He left you!”

 

“Like I said,” Chloe says with a sniff and a toss of her hair. “Super common scenario.”

 

“So? Who was next?”

 

“Then I met Tom. And I shot him in the head.”

 

Beca freezes. “Wait, what?”

 

“Oh he’s fine,” Chloe says like it’s not a big deal she shot someone. In the head. Then again, Beca was fairly sure this girl was unlike anyone she ever has or will meet, and her level of sanity is questionable. “He shouldn’t have flinched. Come on, we gotta keep walking.”

 

She forces her feet to move again once Chloe is several paces ahead of her. A beat-up pickup truck is winding its way down the road and Chloe squeals excitedly and jogs to the side of the road while Beca goes the opposite way to somewhat conceal herself in the ditch. Chloe sticks her thumb out and shakes out her loose, flowing red hair that makes Beca feel things and the truck nearly screeches to a halt. Beca can see two men inside, and it’s no wonder they stopped to pick up a hitchhiking Chloe Beale.

 

She watches from her hiding spot, Chloe smiling at them, engaging in a bit of small talk before she pulls out Beca’s revolver and points it in their faces. She does that with a smile, too, and then men all but fall out of the cab of the truck and run without looking back.

 

Chloe gives a wave and Beca just shakes her head, unable to stop the laugh of disbelief that bubbles up as she climbs into the driver’s seat and adds to her...what is it now, her six? Seven? Felonies. What’s one more Grand Theft Auto charge at this point?

 

She drives them a few more miles up the road to the meeting spot where they’ve arranged to meet “Mr. Smith.” They’re early enough, thankfully, and she puts the truck in park in the middle of the lane and hops out to trail the length of rope along the road away from the truck.

 

When she returns, Chloe’s waiting by the rear bumper holding another, shorter, piece of rope. She offers it to Beca with a smile and then holds her wrists together as Beca ties them.

 

“Kinky,” Chloe says with a wink. “Tying me up again. You must really get off on it.”

 

Beca feels her ears burn and though she wants to deny it, it _is_ sexy and she thought of it the first time she tied Chloe up, too. They haven’t done anything since the tequila night, despite Chloe’s confirmation that they had indeed slept with each other, and Beca doesn’t know if it’s her place to lean in and kiss her now or not.

 

She’s still considering it when the sound of an engine interrupts and they turn to see a car parked at the other end of the rope. A man is standing in front of it, briefcase in hand.

 

“Well?” The man hollers. “I got your money.”

 

Beca realizes they aren’t exactly positioned like captor and hostage, and she quickly grabs Chloe like she’s a human shield and pulls the gun from her waistband to point at her head. Chloe just giggles and pushes her butt back into Beca as she puts up a weak fight. “Great!” she answers. A dumb way to answer, she thinks.

 

“Send the girl over.”

 

Beca drums up a sardonic laugh. “Money first! That was the deal!”

 

The man takes a step forward. “Are you okay, Miss Beale?”

 

“I’m okay!” Chloe calls back. “Just scared!” She lowers her voice. “And a little turned on.”

 

“Now? Seriously?” Beca says to her. But the moment is broken by the man kneeling to tie his end of the rope to the handle of the briefcase, and Beca makes a show of not trusting Chloe to run as she bends to pick up the rope and start reeling it in. When it’s at her feet, she makes another show of cocking the gun in case the man gets any ideas, and she kneels to pop open the briefcase, which is stacked full of crisp, banded one-hundred-dollar bills.

 

“Well?” Chloe asks.

 

Beca whistles. “Yep. Cash money.”

 

“Okay?” the man yells, sounding nervous. “Send her over.”

 

Beca straightens and exchanges a look with Chloe, then gives her a shove which Chloe exaggerates the impact to look a lot more forceful than it was, to send her running toward the man making the exchange.

 

She waits until Chloe is far enough away, then takes aim and fires. She’s a terrible shot and needs five of her six rounds to take out the front passenger tire of the man’s car but it also succeeds in making the man dive for cover.

 

Chloe’s also taken cover, just crouching in the middle of the other lane far enough where even Beca’s terrible aim shouldn’t find her, and seeing the tire blown and the man hiding, she takes off, sprinting back toward Beca.

 

Beca grabs the briefcase, adrenaline and heart pumping, and jumps into the truck, Chloe climbing in a second later, and floors it.

 

“I can’t believe it!” she says once they get around a bend and the man and his car are out of sight. “It worked!”

 

Chloe sounds breathless when she replies, “I told you it would.”

 

“Now what?” She reaches across with one hand and fumbles with the loose knot at Chloe’s wrists to free her.

 

She sees Chloe move the briefcase to the floor by her feet and then she’s sliding across the seat to press herself to Beca. She only kisses her cheek, but her hand is on Beca’s thigh and Beca’s pretty sure that if she wasn’t in the middle of a get-away from a hostage negotiation, she’d stop in the middle of the road to make out with the girl.

 

As it were, they need to put as much distance between them and that man as possible.

 

“Now we ditch this truck and catch a flight.” Chloe settles next to her more casually, arm around her shoulders.

 

“A flight?” Beca says with a laugh. “I’m pretty sure if either of us try to get on a plane right now, we’ll be arrested.”

 

Chloe tilts her head at this. “Beca and Chloe will, sure. But you’re forgetting one thing.”

 

“And what’s that?”

 

“Dinah and Sharon Lord won’t.” Chloe taps the briefcase with her foot.

 

Beca smiles. “And where are Dinah and Sharon Lord jetting off to?”

 

“I hear Scotland is beautiful this time of year.”


End file.
